THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION
By Andamogirl
Author's notes: post season 4.
References to my story "The Night of the Cheyenne called White Eagle.
References to the following episodes: "The Night of the Howling Light"; "The Night of the Firebrand", "The Night of the Burning Diamond."
I put the Arapaho words in italic in order to separate them from the Cheyenne words.
James: Artie, how do you plan to escape?
Artie: Oh, the usual. Guile. Cunning. Trickery.
"The Night of the Arrow"
Hugo: Unless it's because they feel that Dr. Miguelito Loveless is behind all this. I believe you two had some experiences with him.
Jim: Oh, we had some experiences. But I happen to know that Miguelito Loveless has been dead for five years.
Hugo: Well, evidently, you didn't know that he had a son, Miguelito Loveless Jr.
Jim: Of course I know that he had a son. I've known him since he was that big.
Hugo: He's still that big.
Michelito: My father died of ulcers. Ulcers brought on by the two of you constantly interfering with his plans!
Carmelita: Our father was the greatest man in the world.
Michelito: He was the greatest man who ever lived. Till I was born, of course.
The Wild Wild West revisited
Warnings: non-consensual drug use; drug addiction; drug withdrawal.
WWW
TEASER
Railroad depot, Washington D.C.
The Wanderer
Utterly stunned James West blinked twice. "You what?" he croaked out.
Looking gloomy Artemus Gordon put his bag on the work table, taking in Jims shocked expression as he said calmly, "You heard me, Jim. I'm leaving the Secret Service. I sent a telegram to Colonel Richmond and to President Grant. I tendered them my resignation this morning." He opened the door of the parlor car leading to the rear platform of the Wanderer.
Feeling as though he had been punched in the gut, Jim placed a friendly hand on Artemus's shoulder. "Why Artie? You never told me you were planning to quit from the Secret Service – and leave me at the same time." He frowned, puzzled and asked, "Why? Did I do something that hurt you? Because whatever it is that I've done, I'm sorry for it and I apologize. If it's something I can change, I will. I'll do whatever you want me to do, if it means you stay Artie. I don't want to lose you. You're more than a partner to me, more than my best friend, you're like a brother to me. Actually you and I are blood brothers."
Sighing Artemus shook his head. "It has nothing to do with you, Jim. Honest. But with me. I had a revelation this morning while I was watching my reflection in the mirror and seeing a few gray hairs at my temples. I'm 45. I now have more time behind me than ahead of me. I have no wife, no children, no house, just two horses, Lockpick and Mo and two cats, Marmie and Aztec."
Pointing at Marmalade, AG and Aztec sitting on the couch, Jim said, "Precisely. Are you going to leave your cats and Lockpick? They love you, Artie."
Glancing at the felines in a sphinx-style position on the couch, staring at him, Artie nodded. "And they love you too. You will take good care of them, I know." He sighed and continued, "All I have except my horses and cats fills two trunks and the bag I'm taking with me. I'll send someone to collect the trunks later. I'm taking my horse Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse (Walking Horse in Cheyenne language) and my saddle and my gun and my rifle, but that's all."
He sighed. "I always lived for others, when I was an actor, and as a soldier and as a spy, and when I was in the Secret Service… Now it's time for me to live for myself, before I'm old, I'm too old, and before it's too late for me to appreciate… well everything else, and have a personal life. That's why I'm leaving. I will head to the west first, to visit American Knife and I will spend some time there with my band for some peace and rest, living a simple life… and then, and then… well, I don't know, yet."
He took his bag and moved toward the rear platform. Once there he looked up at the dark clouds hanging over head, obscuring the sun and rain started to fall, a few drops at first and then, within seconds, hard, water pooling on his hat, rolling off his raincoat lined with fur inside.
But Jim intercepted him before he had time to go down the metal steps. "Stay! Please. Don't leave me. I can't do anything without you."
The older man shook his head. "It's too late. I've resigned and my decision is irrevocable. I'm leaving, I'm leaving you, the Secret Service and Washington. You should have a new partner soon. Maybe Jeremy Pike or Frank Harper. They're good agents."
Drenched, Jim shook his head, his slick and flattened, dripping hair. "I don't want any other partner, Artie, I want you. Stay, please." He shivered at the coldness of the winter rain. "Wait for the end of the downpour, it will give us time to talk about all this…" Feeling desperate, he added, "You are abandoning me! Like I'm no one to you, just a partner and nothing more. How can you do that to me after what we've been through together? You're like my brother Artie, we're family. Family members stick together to face all situations. We'll face this… how can I put this in words…? This 'mid-life crisis' together and we'll eventually find a solution. I know that. But we need time. Speaking of time, there is still time to reconsider your decision… Maybe the Colonel and the President didn't sign any official papers yet…"
Ignoring that plea and Jim's last effort to dissuade him to leave, and ignoring the heavy, pouring rain too, Artie didn't say a single word and he went down the stairs. He hung his full travel bag over the pommel of his soaked and slippery saddle.
He mounted his dripping pinto horse waiting quietly on the station platform and glanced up at his former partner who looked totally lost and haggard.
He offered him a sad, parting smile and said, "Take care of yourself Jim, be careful, and live long," and then he left, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the rain.
Devastated, tears welling up in his eyes and then merging with the thick droplets getting into his eyes, Jim rasped, "Artie, no, don't leave…" He squinted against the onslaught of water and he was so focused on Artemus leaving, that he didn't notice two men standing by a corner of a warehouse, hiding in the shadows… who left, following Artie discreetly. "Artemus…"
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the dark clouds and the rain continued to fall.
Soaked through to his underwear Jim headed back inside while thinking he should send a telegram to Colonel Richmond.
He shook his head. Seeing him in person would be better in order to tell all that to his CO.
WWW
Later in Colonel Richmond's office
A look of surprise crossed Colonel Richmond's face, then, livid, he let out, "He what? He left? The President and I both refused Artemus's resignation!" He said leaving his chair to sit on his desk. "I sent him a telegram this morning after I received his, telling him about the President's and my refusal, and ordering him to come here as soon as possible so we could talk, but he deliberately ignored it. He left Washington – and he disobeyed a direct order!"
There was a very loud clap of thunder and a bright strike of lightning lit up the entire room, hard, pouring rain lashing against the windows.
Jim nodded. "He didn't say anything to me about your telegram, Sir."
Richmond nodded. "Of course, he didn't! He wanted to leave without anyone stopping him. I should have gone to the Wanderer in person to talk to him, but I was busy."
Jim proposed, "I can find him Sir. Bring him back here. He left an hour ago, he shouldn't be very far. He has probably only reached the outskirts of the Capital. It will be easy to find him. His horse, Mo, is easily identifiable, and there's only one passable road to leave Washington. The others are under construction and closed."
Richmond shook his head. "No, not you, Jim. I'm not going to ask you to arrest your own partner, a man who's like a brother to you."
Surprised Jim lifted his eyebrows. "What? Arrest Artemus?"
The Colonel nodded, still angry. "Yes arrest Artemus Gordon! He still works for the Treasury Department, he's still an agent of the Secret Service, he's still an officer and he disobeyed a direct order from his superior, Me! It has a name: insubordination, and as you know, it's a punishable offense covered under Article 91 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice." He calmed down and added, "I don't want him to be court martialed though, just imprisoned to remind him that he depends on a chain of command, and that he must obey his superiors, in the military and to his Commander in Chief."
In defense mode, Jim nodded. "I understand Colonel, but it's not Artemus's fault. I met Dr. Henderson on my way here and we had a talk. I told him about Artie's behavior during the last weeks and his resignation from the Secret Service and then he told me that Artie was probably suffering from a 'severe depression'. It's a recent discovery by psychologists who evaluate, diagnose, treat, and study mental processes."
Richmond nodded. "I have heard about it. It's a new science, a science of behavior and mind. Dr. Henderson is fascinated by that."
Lightning cracked overhead and thunder rumbled across the sky.
Jim nodded. "Yes, Sir. Dr. Henderson explained to me what it is. It's a major depressive disorder which affect a person's personal, work, as well as sleeping, eating habits, and general health. Other symptoms of depression include poor concentration, very low mood, irritability, insomnia and fatigue. Dr. Henderson told me that Artie's severe depression was probably triggered by his last almost-fatal injury. He told me it happened to people after a trauma, like looking death in the face like Artemus did. As you know, Colonel he spent three months at the San Francisco hospital, between life and death."
James Richmond nodded. "I know that and no one, surgeons included – except you – thought that he would pull through."
Jim nodded and continued, "Since we came back here, one month ago, I noticed that he's been in a state of low mood: he's quiet and withdrawn and he's sad. He can be irritable too and have sudden inexplicable outbursts of anger – it's very un-Artie-like. He's not enjoying anymore what he loves the most: being in his lab building things or cooking in the galley. And he barely eats anything! He doesn't play with the cats too and they're confused. He has difficulty in falling or staying asleep and difficulty in concentrating too. What else? What's very un-Artie like too, is that he started exercising, lifting weights, hitting the punching bag, doing push-ups ... things that he usually likes to watch me doing while eating a cake with one hand and holding his cup of coffee in the other. He lost weight and gained muscles. Oh! And he can't bear to be touched anymore and he's drinking a lot of whiskey too, all day long, usually starting at breakfast. I told him I was worried about all that and he said I didn't have to be, that he was very fatigued, that's all, and that it would pass with time. But it didn't."
Richmond sighed. "No, it didn't, obviously."
There was another flash of light accompanied by booming thunder.
Continuing, Jim added, "I didn't know he was severely depressed. I should have contacted Dr. Henderson. If I did it, Artie would be fine and still with me."
The head of the US Secret Service nodded. "I didn't know that either, Jim. I didn't now till just now. And don't blame yourself. You couldn't guess he was suffering from a severe depression. What Artemus needs is a long medical leave. After I talk to him, he'll spend his first week in a cell in headquarters, here, in order to remind him that he has to obey orders from his superiors. Then he'll have to go to the Military Hospital for a complete medical and mental evaluation. He needs to be treated for his depression. Dr. Henderson will supervise his psychologist colleagues." The Colonel paused and sighed. "I'm going to send Jeremy Pike and two agents to find him and place him under arrest. Go back to the Wanderer Jim, and stay there while you wait for a new assignment – that you'll do solo."
Nodding Jim said, "Yes Sir." Then he pivoted and headed toward the door. He stopped there and looked at his superior. "When Artie is back, I'd like to talk to him Sir."
Richmond nodded. "I'll arrange a meeting."
Jim smiled. "Thank you, Sir." He opened the door and left the room.
Once in the street, James West mounted Blackjack but headed in the opposite direction of the railroad station. He had to find his partner.
Only he could bring Artemus back without gunshots and bloodshed. His intuition was telling him that his partner's arrest wouldn't be a peaceful one.
Colonel Richmond turned around peering out of the rain streaked window, watching people in the street fighting the downpour, clutching their umbrellas.
For now Artemus's plan was going smoothly, he mused.
WWW
Much later in a saloon on the outskirts of Washington D.C.
Leaning against the bar, Artemus Gordon was filling a third glass of whiskey when his sixth sense warned him of an immediate danger.
Glass in hand he slowly turned around and watched Jeremy Pike and two fellow agents he didn't know enter the room, heading toward him, slaloming between the patrons seated around the tables. Their hats and coats were dripping rain and their boots were caked with mud.
It was the deluge outside. The thunder and lightning accompanying the rainstorm.
He raised his glass in salute and smiled. "Hello Jeremy. What brings you here and your companions? A glass of cheap liquor perhaps?" Then he took a sip.
Removing his black hat Pike shook his head. "Not while I'm on duty, but thank you for the offer Artemus. The President and Colonel Richmond didn't accept your resignation. The Colonel ordered you to come to his office and you didn't." He paused. "You disobeyed a direct order."
His face expressionless, Artemus drank his shot of whiskey down, dropping the glass onto the glossy wooden counter, beside the almost empty bottle.
He pulled out a long, fat, cigar from the inside pocket of his gold-colored corduroy velvet jacket, then took out a small pocket knife, cutting the end of the cigar before bringing it to his lips.
The saloon keeper stopped what he was doing, wiping the counter down with a dish rag and pulled a match box out from his black apron.
He struck it on the counter and lit the cigar, pushing an ashtray toward his patron. He watched Artemus drop the little bit of cigar into it. "Nice cigar," he said.
Smiling, Artie said, "Thanks, it's a gift from the Pres… from an old friend," and he started puffing on his cigar a few times.
Jeremy Pike continued, "You're under arrest for insubordination, Artemus. My orders are to bring you to Colonel Richmond's office. He wants to talk to you – before putting you in a cell for a while, I suppose. He didn't tell me." He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket, unfolded it and showed to the other man. "I have an arrest warrant with your name on it."
Everyone in the room froze, stared at Jeremy then they focused on Artemus. The pianist stopped and the conversation gradually ceased. A heavy silence settled.
Taking the cigar out of his mouth, Artie nodded. "I don't want to talk to him. I'm done with the Secret Service. Period," he said, a cloud of bluish smoke trailing out of his mouth. "Even if my resignation wasn't accepted. I really don't care. I'm leaving for the west, for the Indian territory, that's all." He turned around, offering his back to the agents. He poured more whiskey in his glass, swallowed the liquor in two gulps and then added, "You won't stop me.
Pike frowned. "I will."
Smirking, Artie he tapped the ash off the end of his cigar into the ashtray. "I wouldn't bet on it."
The special agent pocketed the warrant and took a step forward. "I have to. I have to obey orders." He paused. "I can't let you go. Be reasonable Artemus. Come back with me to Washington – willingly."
Facing the mirror hanging behind the bar Artie smiled, watching closely the reflections of the other men, their hands curled around the revolvers at their hips, twitching nervously.
He placed his cigar in the ashtray. "Don't do that," he said, in a dangerous, cold voice. He poured himself another glass of alcohol, raised the whiskey to his lips and took a sip. "Don't." Tipping his head back, the liquor was gone in less than a second. "Don't do that," he repeated, "Or you're gonna regret it." He pushed the empty bottle to the side and snapped his fingers. "A bottle of bourbon, your best," he said.
The saloon keeper put a bottle of bourbon on the counter and a new glass which he filled while keeping a wary eye on the man with the arrest warrant.
Pike tried a peaceful approach again, "Artemus be reasonable… "
Taking his bourbon filled glass, Artie said, "Go to hell!" he downed his drink in a swift gulp and slammed the glass on the counter. He licked his lips. "Mmm, it's a good one."
The old man behind the bar nodded. "It's my best bourbon…" And then he took a cautious step back toward the large mirror bracing for trouble.
Nodding, Artie lowered the glass to the counter, ignoring Pike and the two other agents and read the label of the bottle.
Pike sighed with a sorry look. "Then you leave me no choice, Artemus." He gave a nod to the agents accompanying him. "Arrest that man!"
The two men immediately moved toward Artemus, guns unholstered this time.
In a flash, Artemus suddenly whirled around and punched them, hard - hearing a satisfying crunch as he broke the agents noses - sending them flying in the air.
The two men crashed hard on an empty table, breaking it and crumpled to the floor, both unconscious among the surprised patrons, blood pouring from their broken noses.
Having been Jim's sparring partner for years had its benefits, he thought, pleased with himself.
Artie's mouth twitched slightly. Upset, he said, "I hate violence. But when it is necessary, I use it." Rubbing his aching knuckles, he looked at Jeremy again – watching his hand hover a few inches above the butt of his gun – and let out, "You should have chosen more experienced agents to accompany you, Jeremy. They're not very good." He turned around and poured himself another drink – and saw Jeremy take his gun from its holster in the mirror. He placed his cigar back in his mouth and took a new drag and slowly blew smoke rings. "Are you going to shoot me?" He asked.
Pike cocked the hammer of his Colt. "If I have to, I will to incapacitate you. A bullet in your leg will stop you instantly. Artemus Gordon, in the name of the President of the United States, you're under arrest for insubordination to your superior officer. Hands up and no tricks!"
Sensing an inevitable gunfight coming, and possible stray bullets, the people gathered there, saloon-keeper included, scrambled out of the way and left the saloon. But two men sat in the back, next to a group of green plants, half-hidden by them, stayed there to watch the spectacle. The tallest man was sipping a beer, while the other, smaller one was shuffling a deck of cards, an half-empty glass of whiskey to his left.
Eyes riveted on Artemus.
His face neutral Artemus calmly faced the other agent again. He held the smoke in his mouth for a moment, then blew it out.
Licking his lips nervously, Jeremy Pike immediately felt that something was going to happen… Artemus had a glint of mischief in his eyes, a glint of excitement too. "You aren't planning on doing anything stupid, are you, Artemus?" he said.
There was another flash, and the sky roared once more.
Raising his left hand, Artie said, "You're the one with the gun pointed at me Jeremy. No Alright, you win…We're still friends right?"
Pike nodded, but he didn't trust Artemus. "Yes, we are."
Smiling, Artie put his cigar back in his mouth and took another puff of it. Then he lowered it to the ashtray, again. "Good. I don't have many friends. I don't want to lose one."
He raised his right hand, but much slower than the other one... releasing a small round smoke bomb from his sleeve. It exploded when it touched the floor; instantly releasing a thick cloud of red smoke.
Pike hurriedly moved back, but it was too late.
In a flash Artemus pulled out his artificial lung from the left pocket of his jacket and pressed it tightly over his mouth and nose.
He smiled hearing Jeremy curse, then heard a thud as the other man collapsed to the dusty wooden floorboards, rendered unconscious by the knock out gas.
Smiling, Artemus paid for the bottles of whiskey and bourbon, blindly throwing a 10 dollars bill on the bar. Then, when the red smoke had dissipated, he placed the breathing mask back in his pocket. "No tricks? Me? Have we met before?" He grinned from ear to ear and chuckled.
Pike didn't respond with anything, of course. He would sleep for at least for 8 hours.
Bringing his cigar to his mouth again, Artemus smoked it slowly, enjoying it, eyes closed, relaxing. Then, after a few minutes, Artie sat it back in the ashtray.
He poured himself a last glass of bourbon and drank it down in one gulp. "Okay, old boy, time to leave before President Grant sends his troopers on your trail. After what you just did to Jeremy and to the others, he might." He said.
He stepped over Jeremy's motionless body, saying, "Sorry Jeremy," and, followed by all the people relieved gazes, he left the almost emptied saloon.
The two men seated at the table stood and the smallest one picked up the arrest warrant from Jeremy Pike's jacket pocket and slid it into his. "The boss will love to have that," he said.
The tallest man nodded. "Sure thing!"
WWW
Artemus had stepped out onto the boardwalk flipping up the collar of his warm raincoat as the rain was coming down in sheets from the dark sky, when he found himself face to face with Jim waiting beside Mo, his reins tied to the hitching post. He was affectionately rubbing the gelding's neck.
Artie wasn't surprised to find his ex-partner here. "I was expecting to see you Jim; I thought you would be the one to show me the arrest warrant, not Jeremy." He watched as a bolt of lightning zigged across the sky. Within seconds the rain grew heavier and the air thick with electricity. He looked back at the other man. "I was disappointed."
His hand resting on the butt of his gun Jim smiled. "I'm sorry. Colonel Richmond sent them, and not me. I came here as fast as possible, but they found you first. He ordered me to go back to the Wanderer to wait for a new assignment and I disobeyed a direct order. You and I will end up in a cell together buddy. It won't be the first time. I especially love that time where we escaped our cell using a cigar with a thermite charge…"
Nodding, Artie added, "And we ended up sneaking into Midas' house, yes, I remember. The boeuf stroganoff was delicious."
Suddenly a particularly loud clap of thunder struck lighting up the dark sky and the horses huffed nervously, moving to one side.
Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yours is delicious too. How's Jeremy?"
Rubbing the muzzle of his painted horse called Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse soothingly Artie said, "Sleeping thanks to knock out gas; and the others are unconscious too, I hit them, hard." He shook his head. "I'm not going back with you, Jim. I don't want to end up behind bars…"
Rubbing his jaw with his wet fingers, Jim said, "You won't have to stay long in a cell, and you won't be going to a federal prison, but to a cell in the Secret Service headquarters. For a week, the Colonel told me. Then you'll have to go to the Military Hospital for a complete medical and mental evaluation. See? That's nothing. Come back with me buddy."
Looking at Jim again Artie snorted as Mo nuzzled his face with affection. "A mental evaluation? What for? My old nuggin' is fine. I'm perfectly sane."
Frowning in concern Jim said, "I met Dr. Henderson on my way to the Secret Service HQ and we discussed you. I told him about your behavior during the last few weeks, not eating, not playing with the cats, not building bombs in your lab, not cooking, being sad, quiet, withdrawn, etc. And about your resignation. And he told me that you were probably suffering from a 'severe depression', probably triggered by your last almost-fatal injury. He told me it happened to people after a trauma, like looking death in the face like you did. Psychologists will help you. Dr. Henderson will supervise their work." He paused, watching the drenching rain running down his hat and coat in rivulets. "You need help, Artie."
His eyes darkening with anger, Artie said, "I now understand why you spoke about a 'mental evaluation' Jim. After being in prison for a week, I will be kept in a padded-cell, in a straight jacket… in observation, watched round the clock like a lab rat by a bunch of alienists, like as if I were a madman, and I'm not a madman. I'm perfectly sane, I'm okay." He shook his head, his lips were pressed into a thin line. "Never."
Lightning flashed, the boom of thunder followed, loud like the sound of a cannon. The rain came down in sheets, more and more, puddles spreading rapidly across the deserted and muddy street.
Horrified at this idea, Jim said, "Dr. Henderson would never do that! And the President would never let him do that." And he sneezed.
Brushing water droplets off his coat, Artie nodded, "God bless you."
Insisting, Jim reached out, palm up, in a pleading gesture. "Please. It's for your own good buddy." Then all of a sudden before Artie had time to do say anything and to do anything, he balled his hand into a fist and in a flash, punched his (still) partner, right under his chin.
A split second later Artie's knees buckled and he went down, seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes. Jim caught him as he collapsed. Then he pressed a pressure point between Artemus's shoulder and neck, rendering him unconscious as the uppercut hadn't. "I'm sorry," he said.
He quickly and gently eased Artemus down onto the wooden boardwalk, on his back and said, "I didn't have any other choice. I have to bring you to the Service Secret headquarters. You are going to sleep in a cell there tonight, and tomorrow you'll see the Colonel." He fished a pre-loaded syringe containing a powerful sedative (of Artie's invention) out of the inside pocket of coat and uncapped it.
He pressed the needle into his best friend's neck and said, "I can be sure you won't escape this way." Then he re-capped the empty syringe and placed it back in place.
Mo snorted and tossed his head. Then he whinnied in distress seeing his master sprawled on the muddy boardwalk, unconscious.
Smiling reassuringly Jim patted the Cheyenne horse's neck soothingly. "He's alright, don't worry." He unbuckled his best friend's gunbelt – just to be on the safe side – and slid it in his left saddle bag.
He picked the larger man up and Artemus's weight nearly made his knees buckle, but he managed to lift him up to Mo's saddle.
He had settled Artie across the saddle of the pinto horse when two men holding guns left the saloon and framed him. "Drop your gun mister," the taller commanded while the other pointed his Colt against Artemus's head. "Drop it and move back or my friend Chase here will kill your friend." He grabbed a handful of Artie's hair and raised his head. "We have him. The boss is going to be happy."
Moving back Jim dropped his gun to the disjointed planks of the boardwalk. There was a blinding flash and then the boom of thunder rang out.
Using a rope, the smaller goon secured Artie on Mo's saddle then jumped on his own horse, taking the reins of Artie's gelding in his hand.
Smiling in victory, the taller man mounted his own horse and said, "Follow us and he's dead." Then he went away at a trot, head ducked against the cold, stinging rain.
His friend followed with Artemus in tow.
Jim watched them leave and had to reluctantly resolve not to follow them, so as not to take any chances. The life of his best friend depended on it. He said, "I will find you, Artie." He mounted Blackjack and urged his horse on into a galop through the downpour.
Tbc.